A cotton star metamorphoses
now a chemical nova
high above the key of the Aurora Borealis neon rainbow
the dilapidated superhighway.
I sit off in the distance
the contented teetering antagonist to the aborted screen door
amid the tragic final moments of a spider
its legs seizuring arthritic
before collapsing into a makeshift sarcophagus
like a reluctant withering petal
whose umbilical stem and fiber optic hair
melds into graygreen after a geometric frost
envelops the world in a sheeting of iridescent dust.
It acclimates to the silt debris on the oak banister
a tattoo of milky moisture rings
the sole remnants of a bygone era
as a tornado eases into retirement
a former wave of rolling fire
now an amoeba in the lotus position
at the bottom of Walden pond. 

MICHAEL GURNOW has previously appeared in The Modern Word, Fifth Estate, Fuzzclog, Plain Brown Wrapper, Big Toe Review, among others.